


bladed

by ttamarrindo



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: + lots of pining, Hockey, Ice Skating, M/M, figure skater! wonpil, hockey player! brian, this is just vv soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 01:06:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13447275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ttamarrindo/pseuds/ttamarrindo
Summary: there’s a headline in bolded hangul reading PRODIGY KIM WONPIL TO TAKE ON 2018 OLYMPICS or something like that. brian could be wrong; he hasn't had to read hangul in years.he doesn’t think he is, though. out on the ice rink is the same boy from the tabloids, skating in dizzying spins, his moves so graceful he almost looks like he’s dancing, and brian finds his mind set around one general thought: i wouldn’t be able to look away if i tried.(alt: canada is a thing and i really like yuri on ice.)





	bladed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fluffwoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffwoon/gifts).



> 1\. i know nothing about figure skating and/or hockey except from what i learned on the internet and that only gets you so far, really. so please be gentle and don't come @ for any inaccuracies? i tried my best  
> 2\. i 'm experimenting with the writing style. again. i'm sorry.  
> 3\. this is for you; you're one of the reasons i kept on writing for day6 in the first place and i'll be forever grateful to you for that- take this as my first thank you. i'll write you something better next time, promise <3

“did you hear? about the new skater?” 

 

brian grunts from where he’s stretching down on the padded floor of the rice rink. one arm wound up over his head, elbow pushing it further down, his joints crack at the pressure pleasantly. jae makes a disgusted face down at him at the sound and chuks a bottle of water his way. 

catching it by its neck, brian turns to look at jae. white noise is underlined by coach’s gruff yells to hurry up and get their asses on the rink, the familiar knife-slash of skates against dulled ice and the odd spit-out curse when a charge leans just this side of too rough. tying his skates firmly across ankles brian asks, “what new kid?”

 

“he’s supposed to be some big shot figure skater from asia or some shit,” jae shrugs, eyes on his phone as he types types types. “dunno, really. matthew said he’s coming to iceland over here to train for some upcoming competition.” 

 

“canada is not iceland,” brian mutters back, familiar and fond. jae, who really sees no difference between the two, born and bred la boy that he is, only rolls his eyes in response and says, “go practice, captain. try not to punch someone’s teeth out this time, yeah?” 

 

rising up to his feet in one swift motion, brian answers, “no promises,” and with a grin made blade-sharp, steps out into the ice. 

  
  


-

  
  


there is a boy standing at the edge of the hallway. the almost-blue fluorescent lights make it hard to see right but he looks awfully lost, keeps glancing to his right, his left, his right again - can’t quite decide where he wants to go. brian takes his helmet off and shakes his head to rattle his dark hair now made darker with sweat, once, twice, and then comes to stand next to him. 

 

“need help?” he asks, realizing a bit too late that he’s got a split lip bleeding still from where a defenseman nicked him wrong and sees the boy startle at the sight of it. at the sight of him. 

 

“i - yes, please.” the answer comes out in choppy english, stuttered, smooth vowels made rough around a familiar accent brian doesn’t recognize because he’s too busy staring down at wide brown eyes and a tight, relieved smile. 

 

“where is, uh, ice rink?” the boy asks shyly but not entirely hesitant when brian stays silent far too long. brian coughs, shifts awkwardly on his feet, and pretends the red of his cheeks has nothing to do with the way the boy bites down on his bottom lip, is instead the result of a long day of practice and hard work. 

  
  


-

  
  


after, when brian’s leading the boy to the ice rink, he learns a few things about him. to name a few: his name (kim wonpil), his age (only a year younger than brian himself), where he’s from (korea, which prompts brian to switch languages easily and earns him a toothy grin in response). 

 

mostly, though, brian learns he likes it when wonpil smiles at (because of) him.

 

learns he likes it quite a bit. 

  
  


-

  
  


“he’s a big deal apparently. look.”

 

brian blinks. jae’s thrust his phone up on his face but all he can see is a blur of bright color that slowly sharpens into focus once brian reaches out and grabs jae by the wrist to put some space between the screen of his phone and his face.

 

there’s a headline in bolded hangul reading PRODIGY KIM WONPIL TO TAKE ON 2018 OLYMPICS or something like that. brian could be wrong; he hasn't had to read hangul in years. 

 

he doesn’t think he’s wrong, though. out on the ice rink is the same boy from the tabloids, different only because he’s wearing a black bodysuit instead of the light blue glittering outfit from the picture, his hair a few shades darker than the light brown showing in the article. different because he’s here. in toronto. kim wonpil is skating in brian’s rink in dizzying spins, moves so graceful he looks like he’s dancing. 

 

brian watches him from the sidelines. arms resting on the metal railing, eyes trained on the arch of wonpil’s leg and the soft upcurl of his raised arms, his mind is set around one general thought: i wouldn’t be able to look away if i tried. 

 

“he’s a big deal alright,” jae mutters again, still shifting through web articles, though how well he’s understanding them is anyone's guess. jae’s korean skill are limited to a) asking for a refill whenever they go out to eat at the korean barbeque place near the pier b) listening to dean’s songs without having to search up the lyrics and c) talking shit about people right in their face knowing they can’t understand a single word he’s mispronouncing. 

 

“guess so,” brian agrees and doesn't say what he already knew just looking at wonpil out on the ice:

 

how could he not be.

  
  


-

  
  


skating to a half-finished melody, kim wonpil catches brian kang looking back at him and smiles a quiet smile that could mean many things. most of them good, some of them a promise, a few of those a story. 

 

all of them? 

 

a start. 

  
  


-

  
  


the train’s door are just about to slide shut when someone comes barreling in. it’s a few minutes after seven which means the train isn’t crowded exactly but still full enough for the boy that came crashing in to bump into a suit standing by the entrance and stumble on his feet. brian reaches out reflexively to catch the boy by the waist and pull him upright. it’s only when the boy looks up and brian meets brown eyes and a bright little smile barely visible through the blue scarf wrapped tightly around his neck that brian understands. 

 

“wonpil-ssi,” he greets the other with a polite nod and reaches out to straighten the woollen scarf that’s come slightly undone, realizing a bit too late just how his hands are betraying him. he  stops mid-motion, hands hovering awkwardly at his sides before he lets them drop; less of a question and more of a question mark. 

 

“oh,” wonpil blinks, recognition settling on his face. almost helplessly, brian's eyes linger on his cheeks turned ruddy red from the cold and his chestnut hair swept through by the harsh wind outside. “younghyun-ssi, hi.”

 

brian swallows. “call me hyung,” he says, thinks maybe he didn’t fuck it up when wonpil beams back and agrees happily, “okay, hyung.”

  
  


-

  
  


they end up at the korean barbeque place brian and jae frequent because apparently  _ call me hyung _ leads to treating your newly found dongsaeng out to dinner. brian tries not to think too much about it, tries not to read in between the lines like he’s prone to do. wonpil said he missed korean food when brian asked him how canada was treating him so far so he figured why not? he’s just helping wonpil feel more at home. that’s all. 

 

that’s all. 

  
  


-

  
  


(“you bought him  _ dinner? _ ” jae demands incredulously the day after when they cross paths with wonpil on their way to the rink’s cafeteria and wonpil greets brian with much more enthusiasm than he does the other hockey players in brian’s team. 

 

“it’s just dinner,” brian mumbles back, ducks his head down until his jacket covers his chin, and pretends his tone doesn’t sounds as defensive as he feels when jae shoots him one of those looks that obviously mean it wasn’t just that at all.) 

  
  


-

  
  


wonpil takes a liking to watching the hockey team at practice. he’s not supposed to, at least brian doesn’t think he is if the way his manager hovers at his side and scowls a storm is proof of anything. but he returns. stays. brian sees him leaning against the sidelines, often with one (1) earbud stuck to his ear, others without, but there. always. jae says the figure skater is only around because of brian but brian counters that he  _ is _ part of the hockey team so it’s all the same, technically. 

 

technically. 

 

(technically, his heart shouldn’t start a half-pound whenever wonpil smiles at him from the bleachers, shouldn't send blood rushing up to his ears when wonpil stands up and claps when brian gets the pluck past the goalie; shouldn’t. but does. 

 

coach says brian’s improving, though, says he thinks this time they’ve got an actual shot at the championships, so brian figures it’s fine.)

  
  


-

  
  


what brian doesn’t (yet) know about the start: wonpil, who had been lost without his manager and a language he couldn’t speak; wonpil, who had been in canada for less than two days and wanted so badly to return home already; wonpil, who had had thoughts dangerously close to  _ just give up. it’s easier to just give up _ circling around and around his head; wonpil, who had looked at the man standing before him, offering to show him the way, and couldn’t help but think: please. 

 

show me the way. 

  
  


-

  
  


brian more often than not likes to go about things strategically. it’s what makes him a good hockey player and an even better captain. when he’s out on the ice and the clock is ticking and everybody's running on instinct brian knows to take a step back and  _ look _ . 

 

this is what he sees: 

 

kim wonpil is still getting used to training in another country which means in a few chosen words: he doesn’t feel at home. brian can’t say he doesn’t know the feeling because hockey often takes him far away from home which to him means little things like these: a bed that smells like him and street signs in a language he can understand, food that doesn’t have to taste good but taste familiar and company he can count on. 

 

wonpil is staying in a hotel and butchers english more than he speaks it so there’s not much brian can do about that but what he can he does. he waits for wonpil at the train station after practice is done and pretends his stop is further along the line than it actually is so he can make sure wonpil reaches his hotel safe. he gives wonpil the number of a korean restaurant that has a cheap delivery fee and hopes wonpil knows what he means by all that.

 

jae raises an eyebrow when he catches on eventually but doesn’t comment. he trust brian to make his own decisions even if brian doesn’t always trust them himself. 

 

-

  
  


watching wonpil skate in person is nothing like watching him skate through  pixels. there is no proof to find because brian made sure to delete his entire google search history from his phone in case jae went looking (which he did) (of course) but he’s probably seen every single video there is online of wonpil’s performances. in his defense, jae did sent him an article about the figure skater back at the start, which then linked him to a youtube video that inevitably lead him to a youtube playlist and well. you can figure out the rest.

 

point being: one day brian stays a bit too long after practice which means the ice rink is not empty when he finally steps out of the changing room, is instead filled with soft music and the telltale bite of steel blades against ice, is instead home and element to wonpil who skates like fear - of falling, of failing, of trying - is nothing compared to the certainty of the ice beneath him and the sky above him. because he skates like he does everything else: with everything he has and everything he is. 

 

remembering how to breath only comes to him after wonpil’s music has trailed off into echos and wonpil himself is much closer than before. brian blinks, thinks:  _ you weren’t this close before _ when he notices wonpil leaning against the sidewall, so close brian can see the ice shavings dotting his hair white. thinks too:  _ i don’t think i want you any father _ , which translates to brian choking on all his unsaid words and ducking his head down to hide the sudden red of his ears. 

 

wonpil laughs. “did you see me just now, hyung?” he asks, eyes as bright as his smile that to brian already meant brightest. 

 

“yeah,” brian says, swallows hard. “you were great.” 

 

“thank you.” the ice scratches under wonpil’s skates when he shifts on his feet and leans close, closer, closest. “want to watch again?”

 

“yeah,” brian says because that’s all he seems capable of saying and learns that day that wonpil is not only especially good at skating but also especially good at taking brian’s breath away. 

  
  


-

  
  


one of those winter days, brian takes wonpil down to the pier. they sit by the edge of the water, careful not to wet their shoes, and brian teaches wonpil how to skip stones only to learn he was doing it wrong all along. 

  
  


-

  
  


“c’mon, hyung, you can do it.” 

 

“i’m not meant for this shit, wonpil-ah,” brian counters immediately because it’s been five tries already and four of those he’s landed on his ass. 

 

“you have to push up with your right leg, not your left,” wonpil instructs, forever patient, and skates away to demonstrate. brian watches him slide smoothly in a curved line along the side of the rink before he breathes in, breathes out, and jumps. it’s a little infinity, the space between one heartbeat and the next and the heart starts thumping again, but wonpil flies like the air is where he’s been meant to be all this time; his arms stretch out like wings, his fingers splayed out like he’s reaching for something, for everything, and brian thinks he’d give him all. 

 

then his feet touch the ice again - a perfect landing - and he turns to brian, says, “now, you do it.”

 

brian laughs form where he’s leaning against the sidewall. the sound comes out both incredulous (at the thought of trying) and awed (at the thought of wonpil) because he’s a hockey player, not a figure skater, and no matter how many times wonpil insists otherwise he’ll never be as graceful as wonpil is on the ice. 

 

“i think i’ll just watch you from now on, wonpil-ah” brian says and doesn’t think he’s imagining the blush that steals across wonpil’s cheeks, his neck, his ears. “i can’t do the, uh, the-”

 

“lutzt,” wonpil finishes for him, skating closer. “that one’s called a lutzt. and it’s  _ easy _ , hyung. but if you’re so sure you can’t-”

 

“i am.”

 

“- then let me teach you something else.”

 

brian sighs, already knows what his answer will be because wonpil’s grin is bright, his hands open. his heart, too. carefully, brian slots his fingers against wonpil’s own and lets go of the wall. 

 

“teach me, then,” he says and lets wonpil take the lead.

  
  


-

  
  


the hit comes before brian can duck down to avoid it. the left wingman crashes into him from the right and brian can’t do much else than slide along the ice until he smashes against the plastic panelling of the sidelines. he curses, blinks when a drop of what must either be blood or sweat or maybe both drips down into his eyes through the cage of his helmet and everything inevitably sharpens into red. 

 

he’s on the asshole faster than coach can call for a time out. right hand curled tight into a fist he punches across the man's jaw once, twice, and then he’s pulled back into a lean back and choking hold.

 

“calm down -  _ jesus _ , brian - stop fucking struggling!” jae urges behind him. 

 

brian breathes heavily but stops when he feels eyes on him. he shouldn’t have noticed, really, not when his teammates and the opposite team are screaming at each other and coach is shouting orders and adrenaline is still rushing thick along his veins but he feels it all the same. breath in. breath out. brian traces that gaze back to the sidelines where wonpil stands with his jaw just that bit open and his eyes wide and trained on him. 

 

“let me go,” brian grits out in between clenched teeth. “let me  _ go _ ,” he insists and steps out of the rink at coach’s call. 

  
  


-

  
  


“hockey’s a bit… rougher than i expected it to be.”

 

brian grunts, tries to swallows down the bitter embarrassment that threatens to claw its way out of his throat when wonpil takes a seat beside him, careful. he looks out of place in the hockey team’s changing room, clad in his pink sweater and tight fitting leggings. after the game (won by a change on the fly and a garbage goal with brian stuck on the box) the place smells of sweat. there are clothes and hockey sticks cluttering the space around the bench they’re both sitting at but wonpil doesn’t seem to mind; he sits still with his hands in between his legs and an odd look in his eyes. 

 

“what’re you doing here?” it hurts to speak, his mouth twists wrong and awful and brian just knows there’ll be bruises purpling the curve of jaw by tomorrow light. 

 

“just wanted to check up on you, hyung,” wonpil shrugs, offers him a kind, sort of private smile that has brian dragging his eyes away before they can get stuck. 

 

“i’m fine,” brian mutters through the ache, grimaces not long after when the effort pulls too tight at his skin. 

 

“if you say so,” wonpil says but he takes the ice pack brian had been holding onto from his hands and carefully slots it against his cheek. his touch something like  _ i don’t believe you _ and  _ it’s okay, i got you _ all at once. 

  
  


-

  
  


brian won’t admit it, not even to himself, but something in him - that stubborn beat inside his ribcage, that stolen breath of air catching on his lung - something in him stops at the first touch of wonpil’s fingers against his skin. stops-

 

and starts again. 

  
  


-

  
  


“are you guys like, a  _ thing _ now or what?” 

 

brian pauses, shoes catching on a crack in the pavement. taking a steadying breath, he asks, “define thing.”

 

“you know what i mean,” jae rolls his eyes, shouldering past the crowd as they make the trek down to the ice rink. “a  _ thing _ . a couple. an item. a budding romance without the no homo b added to it. a -”

 

“stop,” brian huffs, “please.” another breath, deeper this time, brian does his best to remember that miss park is actually a very nice lady who doesn’t deserve him putting her son six feet under. “i get it.”

 

“so,” jae raises an eyebrow. “are you?”

 

“i don’t know,” brian say honestly because honesty is all anyone ever has in the face of uncertainty. 

 

brian doesn’t really have an answer. he thinks they're not. thinks they might. all he really knows is this: he waits for wonpil to finish practice before eating with him. sometimes that means taking wonpil out to dinner to all of brian’s favorite places and always insist on paying for them both, sometimes it means ordering take-out to the rink and eating by the ice, it means pretending they’re sitting with their thighs pressed together because they’re searching for warmth and not each other.

 

“i don’t know,” is what he settles for because he doesn’t think a simple word such as ‘thing’ can shape all that he means. 

 

“well, if it’s any help,” jae says in the tone he always uses when he means the opposite. in this case being:  _ of course it’s gonna help; it’s you and i’m always right about you. i know you _ . “it’s been a long time seen i’ve seen you so happy on the ice, been even longer since i’ve seen you so happy out of it, too.”

 

quietly, brian passes jae his half-finished coffee, still warm even in toronto’s winter, his mind somewhere not that far away.

  
  


-

  
  


hands stretched out towards his ankles, brian glances to his side to see wonpil in much the same position as him. the white cord of wonpil’s earphones stretches from brian’s right ear to wonpil’s left, playing the piano piece wonpil’s chosen for his short program. 

 

“what?” wonpil asks when he catches brian staring (and has no idea, really, how pretty he looks, no idea of what he does to brian. to his heart).

 

“nothing,” brian mumbles back and returns to making sure his muscles are stretched and warmed up, thinks all the while: i’ve never been as happy as when i’m with you.

  
  


-

  
  


“why do you skate?” brian asks wonpil that night at the pier under the stars that always looks a bit too much like a memory, always a bit too much like home. 

 

“why do you?” wonpil counters and laughs at the unimpressed look brian sends him in return. he shrugs, lean fingers curling over a flat stone. brian thinks he would have made a great pianist in another life, were he not meant for the ice like he is. “it’s not something i chose, you know,“ he says, his voice not quite regretful but colored grey all the same. 

 

“what do you mean?”

 

“i used to skate because of my sister,” he says. “used to skate  _ for _ her. it was something we could do together, it made us close and it kept our parents happy. my teachers said i had talent so i kept on doing it and i guess i just… never really stopped.”

 

“what changed?” brian asks because for him it's only ever been the ice, only ever been this sport, and maybe for wonpil it wasn’t always so clear, but one can’t skate like wonpil does and just call it a passing interest they never outgrew. 

 

this time, when wonpil smiles, there is no trace of that grey resent. brian traces the laughter lines around wonpil’s eyes with his gaze and thinks he understands him a bit better when wonpil answers, “i realised i could skate for myself too.”

  
  


-

  
  


what wonpil means that night in the pier is what he said but not exactly. 

 

wonpil came to toronto because that’s where the olympics were taking place but mostly because his mother has a medal she keeps next to a picture of him and his sister that wonpil wishes were gold instead of the polished silver it really is. wonpil used to think skating was fun when he was little because his sister would take his hand in her own bigger one and says,  _ do it like me _ , and so wonpil would follow after. now his sister works a nine to five desk job and no longer has the time to skate, now wonpil carries the title of korea’s champion and the nation’s hope which really just translates to a leaden kind of responsibility he can’t seem to shake off his shoulders; a responsibility he carries on his heart and out into the ice, so heavy sometimes he’s afraid the ice will crack under the weight and he’ll sink in.

 

drown. 

 

when brian asks him why he skates wonpil realizes he doesn’t have an answer. 

 

what he has is this: brian asks him why he skates and wonpil doesn’t think of a silver medal. instead he thinks of the way brian looks at him when wonpil’s front and center on the ice and how he can’t (doesn’t want to) look away. 

  
  
  


-

  
  


brian remembers all the times his team has lost a game. he keeps a tally at home, a string of tickets from the games where he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t quick enough, wasn’t the captain he was supposed to be. jae gives them to him after the match is over and the crowd gone.  without fail, brian goes home and pins them up on the corkboard hanging from his living room wall. 

 

“why keep the loses?” wonpil asks him one night when they were heading out to eat and got sidetracked, when the weather took a sudden turn for the worst and brian said: my apartment’s closer. meant in fact a whole lot more. 

 

brian watches wonpil from the threshold of his bathroom and tosses him a towel for him to dry his rain-wet hair with. “to remember why i fight to win,” he says and thinks he sees wonpil grin under the edge of the towels he’s got hanging over his head. 

  
  


-

  
  


what brian meant by remembering: once, when brian’s team had just come out the victor of a particularly trying match and there was more adrenaline than blood in his veins. once, when the world had blurred down to his teammates proud grins and the golden glint of the championship cup coming closer and closer. once, when brian had turned and spotted wonpil standing by the backdoor, caught mid-cheer. 

 

once, brian took one two three four steps until he was at his side, didn’t quite reach for his hand but promised to hold it instead, and asked him to stay a while. 

  
  


-

  
  


it’s easy to remember sometimes that wonpil is in toronto to compete. days blur into weeks blur into months and soon enough wonpil is slipping a ticket in brian’s hand and saying, “come watch me skate.” 

 

brian’s breath catches on his throat that night when he sees wonpil in the kiss and cry after his program is over and the skater’s face breaks into a smile, relieved and proud and humble all at the same time. he looks beautiful, brian thinks, and maybe it’s the costume or maybe it’s the makeup or the lights or the crowd or maybe it’s just him, really, just wonpil, but brian itches to reach out and slot his lips against his, wants so badly to dare. 

 

he doesn’t, in the end. this is wonpil’s moment and brian is privileged enough to watch him shine like this. still, he makes a promise to himself.

 

the promise? 

 

it sounds a lot like  _ next time _ .

  
  


-

  
  


the championships take brian’s team all the way over to vancouver. brian packs his bags as he always does, packs jae’s bags as he always does too, and then does something other. 

 

“wonpil-ah,” he calls out into the ice where wonpil is spinning with his leg drawn up at an impossible angle, hands kept close to his heart as if he were holding something dear tight tight and tighter still. 

 

slowing down, wonpil paints a curve with his arms and uncurls his hands; letting go. he skates closer to where brian stands at the other side of the waist-high wall, eyes settling first on him and then his bags and then on realization. 

 

“you’re leaving?” he asks. 

 

“only for a week,” brian rushes out. “well, ten days. the semi-finals are in vancouver, we have to fly over there for the match.”

 

“oh,” wonpil falters. his hands curl around the edge of the railing, seems like he’s keeping himself from reaching out. “i thought…” a pause. wonpil keeps quiet which has brian frowning in concern because oh, is he upset? did brian make him upset?

 

“is there something wrong?”  

 

“no,” wonpil shakes his head, forces a smile on his face that looks all wrong to brian. “when are you leaving?”

 

“just now, actually,” brian says, feels somewhat guilty but can’t really pinpoint why, and shifts his eyes. next time, he thinks. there is always next time. “i just wanted to say goodbye.” 

 

“well,” wonpil smiles once, small but realer this time around, “goodbye then,” and skates back to the center of the rink without another word. 

 

this time is brian who watches from the sidelines, wondering what he missed. wonpil begins spinning again, head bowed and arms at his sides. 

 

this time, his hands seems like they’re waving goodbye. 

  
  


-

  
  


“are you okay?”

 

brian turns to look at jae from where he had been staring at his phone. his thumb hovers over the send button of a text that says too much and not enough all at once. the airport is busy and the team is rowdy. brian can’t seem to focus enough to notice. 

 

“yeah,” he says, sighs once as he pockets his phone, and wonders why he feels like he’s making an awful mistake when he steps into the plane.

  
  


-

  
  


it’s only after the semi-finals are over (a victory. just barely) that brian realizes how much he fucked up. he’s in his hotel room, feet kicked up and the tv set on some news channel he’s only half-paying attention to when the tail end of the reporter’s sentence catches his attention. 

 

he grabs for the remote and turns up the volume only for the air to get knocked right out of his lungs; the tv is showing the olympic ice rink back in toronto, back home, and wonpil is on screen. 

 

the reporter is giving the audience a rundown of how the figure skating scoring system works and going over the schedule for the finals. shit, brian thinks. then, fuck, which more feeling this time around because he remembers then. remembers wonpil telling him about the figure skating finals. more importantly: how he was to fly back home as soon as they were over. 

 

next time, brian thinks, then realizes there probably won’t be a next time if he doesn’t do something now.

  
  


-

  
  


the next day, jae wakes up to find brian gone. his hotel room is bare expect for a single light blue post it note stuck to the top of the tv. 

 

it reads like so: i’m going back home. 

 

somehow, jae’s got a feeling ‘home’ means not a place, but a person. 

 

he’s about right, too.

  
  


-

  
  


flying from vancouver back to toronto takes around five hours. the airline brian takes manages to make it in 4 hours and 46 minutes. 

 

to this day, those are the longest 4 hours and 46 minutes of brian’s life.

  
  


-

  
  


winded from running all the way form the train station to the ice rink, bags still in hand, brian uses every dirty trick he’s picked up from a lifetime of hockey to push his way up to the front of the rink. 

 

elbowing some burly man that refuses to move an inch, brian catches wonpil’s name in the air. from the speakers, someone is saying, “- _ up next, skating to i’ll try on the theme of love, is kim wonpil, representing south korea- _ ”

 

brian stops. hands tight around the railing of the sidewall he watches as he has done so many times, as he’ll do so many more, how wonpil takes to the ice. music begins - soft and hopeful, feels like searching for something that stays (always always) just that bit out of reach -  and so wonpil begins, too. 

 

the crowd quiets, listens; learns what it means to watch kim wonpil skate and be left breathless by him. no one can’t seem to look away -  no one wants to. the music swells, wonpil soars with it into an axel and lands likes the first snow of a long winter; soft but with the promise of more. 

 

the music slows and is then, when all brian can hear is the echo of a true harmony and his heart beating beating beating against his chest, it’s then that wonpil turns.

 

meets brian’s eyes. 

 

smiles. 

 

and falls in love all over again. 

  
  


-

  
  


in the aftermatch there are cameras and there are people and there is confusion. in the middle of it all there are two bodies curled towards each other like the sea curls towards the moon - together and apart; push and pull; the answer to a call. 

“you came,” wonpil breathes into the (small) space between him and brian, who holds to wonpil’s hands like he’s been lost all this time and only now found his back home. 

 

“of course,” brian answers. then, “i’m sorry.”

 

“what for?” wonpil asks but he’s smiling like he knows, like he understands. to their sides, people are clamoring for their attention, asking questions and voicing their congratulations because wonpil’s just won. he’s won the olympics. gold over silver. 

 

none of it seems to matter much to wonpil. he steps closer to brian and curls a hand under his chin, careful of the new-old bruises he finds there, and says, “you’re here,” just to kiss him before brian can say a word in reply.

  
  


-

  
  


what wonpil means that night in the pier is what he said but not exactly. 

 

what he said is this:  _ i realised i could skate for myself too _ and that’s true. that’s right. but somehow, he also meant this:  _ i realised i could skate for you too. _

 

which, when you think about it, also means this: 

 

_ i realised i could skate for us too. _

  
  


-

  
  


wonpil leaves the day after. jae, who saw the whole thing through a shaky live stream feed and called brian the morning after to chew him out for not bringing him along, can’t help but wonder. 

 

most of all, though, he worries. 

 

“what are you gonna do now?” he asks, hands wrought together as he stares at brian who stares at wonpil skating out in the ice.  _ i need to practice _ , wonpil had said that morning, bags made and plane ticket already printed for that night’s flight, which made brian scoff and roll his eyes as he corrected him gently but surely,  _ you need to skate _ .

 

“you’re both gonna be an ocean apart.”

 

“don’t worry,” brian answers and jae only gets that much more frustrated when brian gives him a smile like he’s got it all figured out.

  
  


-

  
  


they win the championships. it’s a big celebration, there is alcohol and a great, victorious team hug at the end of the night. brian, although happy and content, knows there’s something missing from it all. 

 

knows, too, where to find it.

 

-

  
  


two months after the hockey season is over, brian submits his resignation and ends his contract. he hands his captain jersey over to jae, who takes it half sad half grateful. 

 

but as a whole? 

 

understanding. 

coach tells him somewhat gruffly that he’s still got a future in hockey, which brian decides to take as the old man’s version of  _ i’ll miss you _ .

 

“you’ve still got a long way ahead of you, kang,” he says, but the defeated slump of his shoulders tells brian he understands how determined brian is about this decision.

 

“i know,” brian answers. he smiles, doesn’t say,  _ just not here _ . 

  
  


-

  
  


wonpil meets him at the airport with a big blue balloon that brian laughs at all the way to his hotel, which actually turns out not to be his hotel. 

 

when brian points this out all wonpil does is smile big and wide and bright. he says, “of course you’re not staying at a  _ hotel _ , hyung. you’re staying  _ home. _ ”

  
  


-

 

h·o·m·e (noun); meaning: with me. 

  
  


-

  
  


wonpil continues to skate far longer than brian does - professionally, that is. being on the ice is not something brian can give up but he’s done all he can and he’s made his peace with it too. 

 

he teaches now. he’ll never be as graceful as wonpil but the kids like him and call him ssaem with clear admiration. fondness, even. brian likes teaching the kids how to skate, likes even more how wide-eyed they get when wonpil drops by and performs a few tricks for them to watch and gape at. (tricks which they’ll later ask brian to teach them and then brian will regret ever letting them near wonpil in the first place). 

 

what he likes the best though? 

 

waking up to wonpil curled next to him in a bed that smells like them both and going to sleep with the taste of wonpil’s lips against his every single night. 

  
  


-

  
  


they don’t have their pier in seoul but wonpil takes brian out one night and shows him a spot near the han river that’s almost it. 

 

that night, wonpil leans his head on brian’s shoulder and kisses the curve of his jaw, means: stay. 

 

brian twines their fingers together and counts one two three stars up in the night sky. brushes his lips over wonpil’s forehead and answers in kind. 

  
  


-

  
  


with you?

 

always.

  
  


-

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you thought? pretty please? i'm nervous about this style T__T 
> 
> as always you can find me on [tumblr!](https://jahehyung.tumblr.com/) and now i have a [cc](https://curiouscat.me/ttamarrindo) too; thanks if you stuck till the end<3


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